Saw this woman on the train...

    Eyes downcast in subtle gentle movement, theatrically paused, pondering, tottering on my high heels, leafless trees giving way to feng shui surroundings. The churning of the train fills my ears with loudest roar. Stepping from the platform, crossing through the doors, a poignant silence which seems to last forever. A woman starring out the window, in a far away dismal look, then the gushing of her streams of tears. I cannot make the words, so I offer her a tissue to wipe the darkened rings of mascara dripping down her cheek, in a need to abolish them to the nearest graveyard. The doors once again open, commuters in eager rush to get on with their day, their work, and their ornate lives.

     I think about the woman later on in my day, the mournful face of her tears, I should have asked her, was it death, or a love affair now over? I should have asked her, should have comforted her, and should have offered her something for her fragility, her tiredness, and her pain. Should have told her, that this too shall pass. The salt of her tears rest in the unhurried unanswered questions that still linger through my thoughts, as I believe for some very strange and presumptuous reason, that the weight of the world now rests on the frame of her delicate shoulders.